


A Cat Named Dog

by lavellanpls



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavellanpls/pseuds/lavellanpls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the tumblr <a href="http://lavellanpls.tumblr.com/post/125471799208/peekbelowthesurface-send-me-a-number-and-two">prompt:</a> <i>"Cat."</i></p>
<p>Solas doesn't comment when Lavellan comes traipsing into camp one evening with a puffed up, hissing black cat clutched in her arms and happily announces, “Guess who made a new friend?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cat Named Dog

At first, Solas doesn’t comment on the cat. He’s been with Lavellan far too long not to recognize a lost argument when he sees one, and besides, he’s always found her affinity for strays…charming, in a manner. Without it he doubts her inner circle would even exist. What was their Inquisition, really, if not a ragtag band of strays? And while Solas isn’t necessarily fond of cats, he _is_ fond of Lavellan—even if at times that fondness entails suffering her weakness for terrible fanged beasts. Truthfully, he hopes the cat will distract her from her current preoccupation trying to tame deepstalkers—a venture that went about as horrendously as expected. So he doesn’t comment when Lilith comes traipsing into camp one evening with a puffed up, hissing black cat clutched in her arms and happily announces, “Guess who made a new friend?”

The cat is a squirming, spitting mess, pulled from some smoldering wreckage in the Plains, and while everyone else in camp is unabashedly _terrified_ of it, Solas says nothing. He doesn’t even put up an argument when Lavellan insists on dragging the mangy beast back to Skyhold with them, apparently finding charm in her new pet’s ability to lunge directly at the nearest person’s throat.

“He’s spirited,” she coos with an enamored smile, and Solas has to bite his tongue.

Across the campfire, from a strategically measured distance, Dorian gives a derisive _tsk_. “He’s _savage,_ ” he argues, still sulking from a traumatic near-scratch to his face. “Are you absolutely sure it’s not possessed? Or cursed?”

Lilith only scowls. “He’s _cute_.” The cat, presently napping in her lap, gives a low growl. Of course. _Cute._ “You know, I’m starting to think you guys may have something against cats.”

“Cats are disloyal,” Solas points out before he can stop himself, and Lavellan only scoffs.

“You clearly haven’t proven yourself worthy of their loyalty, then. That’s a problem on your end, not theirs.”

“ _That_ cat is possessed,” Dorian maintains. “But by all means, let’s gather up a whole herd of them and start some hellish menagerie. It turned out _so_ well with the deepstalkers.”

“Don’t patronize me; the deepstalkers are a work in progress. You’ll all thank me one of these days.”

“Lilith, that thing is _feral_.”

“And adorable,” she amends.

Solas considers a few more fitting modifiers, but voices none. Feral or not, it _is_ still better than the deepstalkers. One hopes. Besides—he sees Lavellan so often with a sword in her hands, it’s almost _refreshing,_ he thinks, to watch his ever-fearsome warrior fawn over stray cats. Thus he vows not to interfere, and for a while, he almost makes it. Almost.

It is truly a marvel how much Solas can ignore. He manages to not make a single disparaging comment about the cat the entire journey back (although Dorian is certainly another story), and maintains silence even after it apparently decides to take up residence in the rotunda. He says nothing about the new misting of cat hair over the settee, or the claw marks marring the upholstery. Stays silent when the growling little beast jumps onto his desk while he’s deep in the middle of research, knocks his books off, and scatters a pile of reports across the stone floor. He even keeps his mouth shut when he awakens in the dim, early hours of the morning to find a furry weight sitting contentedly atop his chest, staring at him. With a weary sigh, he meets a shimmering pair of slit eyes and glares. The cat just silently kneads its claws into his flesh. Solas thinks, in an exhausted fury, that the damned thing does it on purpose—knows he won’t wake Lilith, curled into a sleeping ball at his side. Probably _timed_ this, even.

“ _Off,_ ” he whispers, and the cat just stares. Smug. Shifting restlessly beside him, a still-sleeping Lilith gives an unhappy hum, her hand unconsciously tightening around his arm, and Solas hisses in a sharp inhale as her nails dig into his skin.

Ah, yes, he considers. Wonderful. Now there’s two of them.

Still. Against every instinct, every base urge, he manages to hold off his complaints. Miserable as it was, Lilith truly seemed to _like_ her new feline companion. For her sake, Solas is sure he can ignore a few scattered papers and errant scratches and suspiciously well-aimed hairballs. It is, after all, only a _cat_ —Solas could handle far worse.

It’s a day short of a full week before he finally breaks. For once, Solas does not actually blame himself. It’s early, the sky outside Lavellan’s bedroom windows only just beginning to brighten to blue, but they both have been awake for some time. Mornings are…special, with Lilith. Softer. Solas was never one to abandon sleep, but the waking world is far more alluring with the promise of someone beside him, and Lavellan sleeps soundest when she can wrap her arms around him. They get so few moments truly _alone_ —without interruption, distraction, some urgent, pressing duty hanging above them—and in the quiet, early hours before sunrise, locked away in her chambers, Lilith softly kisses him awake and for a while Solas lets himself forget. About the Inquisition, about the end of the world; about all the hazy reasons why he knows he shouldn’t pull her close and kiss her back.

He also forgets about the cat.

Lilith is flushed and panting beneath him, aglow in a post-climax haze, and Solas is so, so _close_. The rising sun lights her bare skin up in a wash of golden light, legs still hooked over his hips, and his rhythm falters. He’s only moments from release, when the little monster jumps onto the bed and decides to sharpen its claws on his thigh.

Solas jumps so fast he nearly _falls_ , yanking a tangle of sheets behind him _._ The cat just hisses, ears pinned back, and swipes a claw at him before scurrying to the floor. Lavellan, of course, immediately erupts in laughter. Solas sends a heated glare the cat’s way, still caught somewhere between startled and horrified, and breathlessly demands, “Why is _that_ here?”

“Because he sleeps here,” Lavellan explains, unbothered by their unwelcome visitor. “What, not a fan of cats?”

Solas regards the intruder with a narrow glare. “Not presently, no.”

“Aw, come on, he likes you!”

“It _watches_ us,” he argues, and makes some vague, frustrated gesture with his hands that only makes Lavellan laugh.

“Be flattered,” she offers. “Apparently he thinks your performance is good enough to deserve an audience.” She sits up, leans forward into his lap and drapes her arms over his shoulders with a wicked grin. “Think I could get an encore?”

“Not with _that_ still here.”

“He’s got a _name,_ ” she insists. “Rude.”

“He’s a _cat_. Make him leave.”

“He’s a cat,” she repeats, “No one makes him do anything unless he feels like it. Besides, I can’t very well lock him out of his own room. Where’s he supposed to sleep?”

Solas ignored all the clawing, the ruined furniture, the dubious “gifts” of dead birds; put up with the late-night yowling and bizarre, angry staring contests. But _this_. Oh, no. “It _cannot_ sleep here.”

“First, he’s a he, not an _it_. Second, he can sleep wherever he damn well pleases, because he’s precious and I love him. Meanwhile _you_ , I feel I should remind, have your own room you can sleep in. So.” She rocks her hips languidly against him, half-masked eyes looking entirely too triumphant, and Solas is starkly reminded of his own delayed release, still pressed between them. “Your move,” she purrs.

“At the very least,” he pleads, defeated, “not while we’re-”

“Gettin’ freaky?” she supplies, and he sighs.

“We talked about this. Phrasing.”

“I remember you talking, I don’t remember me agreeing.”

“The cat has to go,” he maintains. “At least when-”

“…we’re really goin’ at it?”

“ _Lilith_.”

She relents with a melodramatic sigh. “ _Phrasing,_ fine.”

“The _cat._ ”

“I told you, I can’t do anything about that. Women and cats will do as they please. Learn that lesson early on and save yourself a lot of trouble.” She presses a soft kiss to his cheek before adding the hushed addendum, “Also if you shut him out he meows at the door until someone opens it, and people are starting to get mad. Dorian’s already complained about it twice. Apparently Fen is very vocal.”

Solas begins to argue, but stops himself short. “…you _named_ it?”

“Of course I named him. Because I’m _civilized,_ and I don’t go around calling cats ‘it’ when he is _clearly not an it._ ”

Solas thinks of a great many comments he could make, none of which will lead anywhere good, and finally settles on, “You named your cat ‘dog.’”

Lilith shoves at his chest with a playful smirk. “Fen’s his nickname,” she informs with a slow-growing grin, “and I’ll have you know he’s very fond of it.” The little monster leaps onto the bed as if on cue, and Lilith reaches to absently scratch below its purring chin. “Isn’t that right,” she coos, “My little _Fen’Harel?_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> solas: *looks into the camera like he's on the office*


End file.
